Fun for the Whole Family
by Kelly1
Summary: Silly slice-of-life BOM fic. Some mutant vigilante groups should just not be allowed in the kitchen. Pietro/Dominic, Rogue/Domino.


**Title:** Fun for the Whole Family  
**Author:** kelly1_watxm  
**Characters/Pairings:** Pietro/Dominic, Neena/Marie, Mortimer, Fred. By mention: Jean/Emma, Scott/Logan, Erik  
**Word Count:** 3,700+  
**Rating:** M  
**Genre:** Hopefully humour  
**Warning:** Blue humour, slash, femmeslash, language, vague blasphemy at one point  
**Summary:** For andthexmen's FicOff Challenge #10. Silly slice-of-life BOM fic. Some mutant vigilante groups should just not be allowed in the kitchen.

** Disclaimer:** The idea that Neena is familiar with the world of R.P.F. and the fictional comes from alcimines; your friendly neighbourhood 'Walco' belongs to manikaitwing (hopefully neither of you mind. 0_o) Everything else belongs to Marvel/Disney.

**A/N:** Spawned from the Marvel advent calendar I received this year, which got me thinking about X-merchandizing in the WatXM world. :)

* * *

"Oh tiny Pietro," Pietro's voice carried, lovingly narcissistic, "you're only seven inches high and yet you're still breath-takingly magnificent."

_What the unholy hell?_ Domino paused outside the kitchen door, listening cautiously to the sound of low voices. While she _did_ need her morning coffee, the last thing she wanted as an early Christmas present was to walk in on Pietro and Dominic. Again. (She still couldn't look at the pool table without shuddering slightly. Or the couch. Or the office chair. Or the washing machine.)

"I cannot..." Dominic growled in frustration. "How are you doing that?"

"Just wrap your hand around the outside and pump it smoothly. See how I'm getting a nice even stream coming out when I do that?"

(Domino wondered to herself how many Lysol wipes she was going to have to buy to restore her peace of mind.)

"Don't get it all over the counter," grumbled Fred. (Too many.) "I'm working on my own over h--Mort, what are you doing?!"

"Um... licking it up?" (Far, far too many.)

She had apparently inadvertently walked in on a re-enactment of the horrific PWP she had read the other day on . ("While boss-lady Domino is away, the BOEM boys get up to some 'cooking' in the kitchen." Domino had only clicked it out of mild interest. Surely, if someone had the good sense to assume she was the leader of the Brotherhood, they'd be able to string together a decent piece of smut. This had proven to be an incorrect assumption. She had stopped reading at: "'Today,' Quicksilver clapped his hands together brusquely, 'we're going to be making biscuits.' '_Soggy_ biscuits,' added Avalanche with a grin, stroking his moustache. 'What's that?' asked Toad innocently. The Blob was already chuckling to himself and freeing his massive man meat from his pants." _Massive man meat?_ Yeah, no thank you, ficcer. That alliteration was enough to give her nightmares.)

The site was an affiliate of welovehotmutiebabes, and Domino had only been on it because her favourite Jean/Emma author, shadesofgrey1979 (who was writing again after more than a year's hiatus), had done a series of X-Men one shots loosely based on the prompt "Kissing under the Mistletoe: When Tilde hung all the mistletoe in the X-mansion at waist level, it led to some _interesting_ Christmas cheer. But who was going to argue with tradition?" that tied into one another. (Really, shadesofgrey was amazing -- she always got the dialogue bang on and there was this delicious undercurrent of mutual loathing she managed to catch in each piece between the two telepaths which was ridiculously sexy.) Domino felt she had to read the incredibly explicit Scott/Logan that preceded the Emma/Jean chapter for posterity's sake. Browsing around for other fic after had been the mistake.

She only caught the end of Mortimer's sentence through the mumbling. "...hot enough."

"It has to harden first," clucked Fred irritably. "Trust me; I've done this a million times."

No, no, this couldn't happen. They _ate_ in there, for chrissakes. No amount of bleach or brain bleach would be able to undo this if it was allowed to proceed. She had stop this (or, at the very least, get it relocated) now, or she'd have no choice but to burn the kitchen down later. Domino buried her face into the crook of her arm and pushed open the door so forcefully that it banged against the wall.

"Dom," Pietro's voice came languidly from somewhere near the table area, "nice of you to grace us with your presence. I assure you, this whole eye-arm-shield..._thing_ you've got going on is entirely unnecessary. We've all seen you without makeup."

"Cram it, Maximoff." Domino's witty repartee tended to fail her until at least her second cup of coffee.

"Wow Mort, you're really getting good at that." Freddy rumbled near the fridge, interrupting her train of thought. "Can you do mine next? It's all ready to go."

"Guys, come on." Seriously, the sanitary issues alone-- "This is our _kitchen!_ We _eat_ in here!"

"Very good, Dom. We _do_ eat in the kitchen." A hand was patting her condescendingly on the head. "I knew your razor sharp intellect was why I made you second in command." Pietro chuckled, adding, "Next week I'm going to teach her what the bathroom is for," in a stage whisper to the rest of the team.

She was not in the mood to be patronized. "Is it handjobs? Because Lord knows that's what you and Dominic seem to think every other room in this place is for."

"Geez, you're testy today. What crawled up your--"

"Fuck." Dominic's curse had two effects. Firstly, it likely saved Pietro from the inevitable mean right hook Domino would've landed had he completed his sentence, and secondly, it made Domino look up instinctively from her arm.

The kitchen was a warzone. Apparently a powdered sugar bomb had exploded sometime earlier that morning, leaving bowls and bowls of brightly coloured icing as shrapnel. An army of gingerbread people was slowly advancing across the counter.

Dominic held up his hands uselessly, globs of dark blue icing plopping slowly down onto the counter and splattering as they landed. His white undershirt was already dotted with stains. "Uh...?"

"That's the third time you've done that today." Pietro somehow managed to sound equal parts amused and annoyed and endeared. He was across the kitchen in a flash with the roll of paper towels, wiping the bulk of the icing off of Dominic's hands for him. "You really _are_ absolutely useless at this, aren't you?"

"It is very lucky I have a positive and encouraging support center to draw upon, yes?" Dominic rolled his eyes. "Or I might become discouraged and be forced to give up my lifelong ambition of decorating cookies forever. And then how could I live with myself."

"You're right, Dom, I'm sorry." Pietro leaned down to place a relatively chaste kiss on Dominic's cheek. "Premature icing release is a very serious issue that affects a lot of men these days and I shouldn't laugh. I promise I'll stick by you and we'll make it through this." He clutched his hand to his chest dramatically."Together. You know, at least until I find someone new."

"Asshole." Dominic smiled and returned the kiss, and then proceeded to wipe the remainder of the icing off on the sides of Pietro's shirt. "I am going to make more coffee."

Pietro frowned hard at the ten blue streaks now gracing the area of his ribcage. When this failed to be an effective stain remover, he appeared to let it go. "Fine, I'll just have to replace you with Domino." A glop of icing slid off the counter and onto the tile as Pietro spoke, spraying the tops of their bare feet and the bottoms of their pyjama pants. "Though I can't see how our operation will survive without your poignant artistic vision."

Dominic flipped him off before disappearing into the pantry.

Pietro turned and grinned at Domino, gathering the used paper towels into a pile. "So, you think you might be able to do any better than this?" He was holding up what appeared to be the demented gingerbread love-child of Harry Potter and the Cookie Monster.

Domino took it from him cautiously; afraid it might collapse under the sheer weight of the icing. She lowered her voice, hoping that she was out of Dominic's earshot. "What _is_ it?"

"Avalanche! Domino wants to know what your travesty against baked goods is supposed to be."

The floor shook ever so slightly in reply.

"If you ask me, this whole thing is a bad scene for baked goods." Fred shook his head sadly. "Cookies aren't meant to be used for evil."

Mortimer shrugged non-committally, pausing his strokes with the icing bag in mid flourish. "I dunno, I think it's kind of fun."

"This is revenge, Mort, it's not supposed to be fun." Pietro drummed his index finger against his chin, obliviously smearing it with icing. "Okay, well, only a little fun."

"Wait." Domino hoisted herself up onto one of the kitchen stools, inspecting the gingerbread more closely. A tiny green-clad cookie with white hair and a lightning bolt on its chest sat in front of Pietro's station. Further down, Freddy was working on what was obviously meant to be Jean Grey. A smudgy Cyclops complete with liquorice visor was already completed. Mort appeared to be the most adept; he'd already finished four cookies (herself, Dominic, Kitty, and Forge) and was working on a tiny Fred. His were surprisingly artistic. "You're making _revenge_ cookies?"

Pietro waved his hand airily. "I suppose they're more 'spite' cookies than 'revenge' cookies."

Mortimer snorted, muttering, "Because that makes such a difference." Pietro glared hard enough that it caused Mortimer to squeak, and he quickly diverted his attention back to ginger-Fred.

"So..." Domino cocked her eyebrow and looked at Pietro levelly, "let's pretend for a second that this _isn't_ a batshit insane endeavour.' She paused. "Nope, nope can't do it; this is relatively nuts, even by your standards. How about you just walk me through whatever went through that pretty little head of yours to get to this point?" She spread her arms wide, indicating the disaster that was once a kitchen.

"More flies with honey, Thurman," Pietro sniffed indignantly. "Your words wound me like a thousand knives...You know, except for the 'pretty' part; that's just the truth. People would kill for these cheekbones; isn't that right, cookie-Pietro?"

"How foolish of me to question your sanity," deadpanned Domino. "Please continue to address the desserts."

"No respect," he lamented to his sugar-based self before turning back to her.

"Gee, I wonder why."

Pietro chose to ignore her comment, perching himself on one of the kitchen stools. "If you must know, last night, 3 a.m., I'm wandering around Walco--"

"They're open that late?"

"Holiday hours." Pietro sighed witheringly. "And please, continue to interrupt me whenever you see fit. I'm simply regaling this tale for my own benefit; certainly not because _someone_ asked me to."

"And _I'm_ the testy one today? If anyone's got their panties in a bun--"

"Who is having coffee?" Dominic emerged from the pantry, brandishing the freeze-dried. (He seemed to have a knack for preventing dissent amongst the ranks via well-timed interjections. Domino secretly suspected he might have been the reason she and Pietro had yet to kill each other after all these years.) Four hands shot up almost immediately; the wheels of mutant supremacy were lubricated with the sweet sustaining grease of caffeinated beverages.

"As I was saying before Dominic so rudely interrupted me--" (Dominic rolled his eyes at their leader and started filling the carafe in the sink) "I was in Walco last night and there, in the clearance aisle, I happened across this...abomination." Pietro picked up a box from a stack on the counter and tossed it to Domino.

"'This holiday season, decorate your very own team of X-Men," she read from the brightly coloured cardboard. "Includes six gingerbread figures, icing, colouring, and candy decorations. Fun for the whole family. Also in this series, Alexis Texas.' Ooo, Pietro, you should have gotten that. Nothing says 'Celebrate the birth of our Lord' like Disney jailbait."

"You're failing to see the injustice here, Domino. Why should _they_ get cookies and not us? Why are they so special? Mind you, they were on clearance and obviously not selling all that well in light of the Registration Act but still, the point remains... first all those Wolverine Halloween costumes and now this. Are no holidays safe? If we don't take a stand now, soon we'll be seeing... I don't know..." He waved his hands agitatedly, "kitls embroidered with white X's or some crap next Yom Kippur. I won't abide by it."

The world of Pietro-logic was particularly difficult to navigate at times, especially before coffee. Domino frowned. "So how, exactly, is buying one of these cookie kits--"

"Three."

"What?"

"I bought three of these kits."

"Okay, so how is buying _three_ of these kits doing anything but perpetuating the demand for more holiday X-merchandise? You know, I bet they get royalties from this. We probably just bought Forge a new pair of goggles."

"It's a matter of principal." Pietro bristled at the criticism. "We're taking their cookies and corrupting them for our own diabolical purposes. See, over here we have gingerbread us, and then in front of you, Dom and Mort were spearheading the forgotten X-team."

Domino carefully re-examined the cookie in front of her, squinting slightly. "Oh, it's Beast."

"See, it is fine." Dominic smiled smugly in Pietro direction. "Thank you, Neena."

Mortimer laughed a little nervously. "You are not going to be pleased with who they left out though."

Domino turned over the box, inspecting it more closely. 'Kit includes Wolverine, Jean Grey, Cyclops, Shadowcat, Colossus, and Logan. "Wait, there're two Logans and no Marie. And Colossus? Seriously?! Has anyone even _seen_ that guy recently? This is total bullshit."

"And they picked Jean and Kitty over Emma and Ororo, which is crazy." Fred ate a dob icing from one of the bowls. "It's like they didn't even consider rack size when they were making their decision."

"Yes, thank you for that dazzling insight, Fred." Pietro chose a new cookie. "But you're right, Thurman. It _is_ total bullshit, which is why we needed to get back to grass roots on this, pervert the intention, and then, when the moment is right..." He snapped the Wolverine he had just started decorating at the waist, "we crush them like insects."

Somehow, now that she had compared it to the bizarre reality of the situation, Domino was thinking that a group circle jerk in the kitchen might have been the lesser of two evils. Dominic distributed the coffee cups and then pulled up a chair next to her. "Or slowly disintegrate them with excessive icing. That is my stratagem. It is very devious, yes?"

She grinned, "You're truly a master of cunning, Petrakis."

Pietro was sucking on one of Logan's legs, the other dangling from the corner of his mouth. "Well, he's _certainly_ not the master of gingerbread decorating." He caught his balance on the counter before a tremor nearly knocked his stool over. "Besides," he said smoothly, nonplussed, "at the end of the day, we get cookies and good ol' fashion holiday bonding. Where's your Christmas spirit, Thurman? 'Santa died for our sins' and all that."

"It's almost impressive how much blasphemy you managed to cram into one sentence."

"I'm exceptionally gifted." Pietro puffed out his chest. "Oh, right, _gifting_ is the other reason we're doing this. Father is notoriously hard to shop for."

"Just what every dad wants for Hanukah: mangled cookie effigies of his enemies."

"Don't be stupid, Domino, we're not giving him the cookies."

She let the 'stupid' remark slide. "Of course, how silly of me to assume that at least one portion of this plan might actually make some sense."

Pietro gave her a scornful gaze. "The gift is the news that the last time the BOM faced the X-Men, we thoroughly trounced them." He moved the tiny Quicksilver rapidly across the counter, breaking the neck of Cookie-clops in the process. "Ooo, suck it, Summers! You can't eye-blast me with no head, can you?"

"We're the worst vigilante team ever." Domino sighed.

Pietro took the cookie legs out from between his lips, pipetted on a new streak of icing, and then proceeded to lick it off, ignoring her statement completely. "It's really more a lack of full disclosure than lying."

"So the part about you removing Wolverine's pants with your mouth...are you including that detail or not? Because I really don't know how pleased Mags would be about that."

Mortimer and Fred snickered. Dominic frowned. "I would also like to include myself in the 'not pleased by that' category."

"Aww, don't fret." Pietro bit off one of the legs. "Logan's way down the list of X-Men I would do. Too dangerous."

"I am so very reassured by the fact that you actually have a list of the X-Men you wish to see pants-less."

Domino tapped her chin thoughtfully. "You know, if there was some way we could convince _Erik_ to remove his pants though.... Merry Christmas, Neena!"

Pietro blanched. "Not cool, Thurman."

"I'm sorry Maximoff, but one of these days you're going to have to face the facts that your father's a total silver fox." Sometimes, Domino didn't know if she actually believed it so heartily as she knew it made Pietro squirm.

"Do not fret," Dominic parroted Pietro's words from earlier, slapping him hard on the back with a rich laugh. "It gives me hope for the future in terms of how you will age."

Mortimer cottoned on relatively quickly. "Magneto's really almost... Is 'dapper' the word for it?"

"Oh yes," Dominic agreed, "Very dapper."

"Seriously guys," Pietro admonished, "there are certain lines--"

Domino grinned wickedly. "Domino crossed the room, bosom heaving, entranced by the gleam of his helmet and swirl of his magenta cape. 'Oh Erik,' she implored, pressing herself against him, feeling his girth against her thigh, 'Take me now! You're so--" She dropped her voice breathy and low, "'dapper.'"

The kitchen erupted with laughter. When it finally died down, Pietro was sulking and attempting to finish the non-eaten half of Wolverine. "I hate you all."

"That is not true." Dominic leaned over him, rubbing his shoulders. "You love us."

"Debatable."

"You will change your mind for certain when you hear the genius plan I have devised while making coffee. This is why I did not focus on decorating. I am an ideas man."

Pietro was smiling again. "Clearly, that was the only reason."

"Obviously. So, my plan..."

Three minutes later, all five Brotherhood members were seated at the counter, diligently decorating gingerbread. Three and a half minutes later, Dominic was swearing again as another mound of icing volcano-ed out of the top of the bag.

"It's not toothpaste, Dom. You can't just squeeze it indiscriminately in the middle and assume there'll be no repercussions."

"Again with the toothpaste, Pie?"

"Toothpaste is squeezed from the _bottom_ of the tube. Toilet paper hangs _over_ the roll. I'm not asking you to move mountains, Petrakis."

"Yes, I believe that would be more simple than sharing a bathroom with you."

"Asshole."

'Seriously,' Domino thought, grinning and carefully setting the bowls of green and yellow icing in front of her, "worst vigilante team ever."

* * *

"Ya'll are the worst vigilante team ever." Rogue was smiling as she slid into the booth across from Domino. It hadn't been all that hard to convince her to slip away from the X-Men for a bit. Apparently they were in the horrific throes of holiday cheer at the mansion as well, and she was looking for an excuse to escape. As she removed her scarf, Domino noted with some satisfaction that she had managed to pilfer the power suppression collar for a few hours.

Really, Domino should have been sending Forge a present. She grinned and sipped her latte. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"So what you're saying is some _other_ mutant splinter group made gingerbread equivalents of both of our teams, crumbled all the X-Men cookies, and set up the Brotherhood gingerbread to look like they were essentially dancing on our shattered corpses. _Then,_ the mysterious group took a picture of this, had it made into a freaking _Christmas card_ with the caption "Merry X-Mas, X-Losers!" and hand delivered it to our door, rang our doorbell, and then managed to leave so quickly that the security cameras couldn't get a clear shot."

"Yes, that does seem like a wholly reasonable chain of events. What bastards."

"I'm not sure I'm buying it." Rogue giggled, perusing the menu.

Domino squeezed her knee under the table. "Plausible deniability, Marie."

Rogue reached over, brushing her hand softly against Domino's cheek. Domino leaned into the touch. "I think that argument falls through when you have icing in your hair." Rogue bent forward the strand in question for Domino to see.

"Shit."

"I _do_ appreciate the fact that the Rogue cookie only had a bit of the icing messed up. Really, I think I faired the best. Seriously, what the hell did you guys do with Hank?"

It was Domino's turn to laugh. "I may have had something to do with keeping gingerbread-you safe. Also, fun fact: did you know you can get the Walco one-hour photo guys to move _much_ faster if you persuade them with just a tiny threat of shooting off their manhood?"

Rogue nodded thoughtfully. "Good to know for future reference." She ordered a hot chocolate from the barista as he passed.

"So, if I give you part of your Christmas gift now, will you promise not to turn us into your fearless leader? We really have no desire to be julienned for the holidays." Domino had managed to track down a first edition of Mrs. Dalloway months ago; she and Rogue had already agreed to meet up on Boxing Day to exchange their gifts. Of course, she had gotten an idea for something else smaller the other day.

"I guess." Rogue eyed the brightly wrapped package excitedly. "But only if I like it."

"I think you might."

Moments later, Rogue had ripped through the paper. "How very subtle, Dom." She raised her eyebrow skeptically, trying to bite back a smile. "A belt with mistletoe attached to it."

"_And_ a key card for that motel two blocks from here."

Rogue grinned, re-buttoning her coat. "I wonder if I can get my drink to go." And then she lapsed into giggles.

"What?" Domino locked arms with her as they stood, zipping up her own jacket.

"I'm just thinking that it's been the season for low hung mistletoe. Tilde hung it all in the mansion this year and, I swear to God, none of it's more than three feet off the ground..."


End file.
